


Hollow Galaxy

by Sirins



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 10:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8485351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirins/pseuds/Sirins
Summary: It's been three month since she didn't make it, back on the Citadel, and Eternity is the best place to drawn your sorrows. If you have to avoid Omega, of course.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy N7 Day everyone!

It is a hollow galaxy. Reapers has been destroyed and everyone is trying to patch their wounds: to fix ruined cities, to find the lost ones, to moan the fallen. Normandy was docked on Earth, crew trying to get lost in after war coil, devastated by what happened, unable to look each other in the eye.  
Garrus left Earth and Normandy as fast as he could – it was a hollow ship and helping his people looked like a better way to cope with life. Surprisingly, despite serving aboard a human vessel, his part in the war was recognized and his opinion became almost as important as of primarch’s. But that didn't mean a thing to him.  
The word “empty” is still too mild to describe the galaxy without Shepard.

For the reasons unknown Illium is probably the world least affected by the war and it is swarming with refugees of all kinds. Garrus was send there to try to get all the turians back to Palaven and the colonies – they need a lot of free hands to rebuild and the fact that a lot of them are busy huddling asari stripers in the Illium bars is not of much help. He agreed for the job partially because of T’Soni who hadn’t been answering his messages for a while and partially because of Eternity bar that was the best place to get wasted. Well, Afterlife is probably better but Omega is a wreck and holds a lot of bad, bad memories.

Turians have been given the best motivational speech Garrus can manage and Liara is alright – just busy and depressed. That leaves Vakarian with only one reason to stay on Illium.  
Eternity is noisy, crowded and blue – nothing special. Liara wanted to come first but backed down when Garrus pointed out that it had been three month since Shepard… died? They don’t even have it in them - to say the word. So Garrus is alone and, to tell the truth, that’s better: they would have to talk about her, to say something but he didn’t even manage anything at the funeral, let alone now. The only thing he has to do now is to order, to drink and to pay, which is easy.

  
“Dextro whisky?” askes a mature asari bartender whose voice sounds familiar.

  
“Yes, I guess,” Garrus is sure they’ve met before but he doesn’t remember her name so he decides not to mention that.

  
“You look familiar and you look like you’re down. I would offer you me company but my shift is almost over. The next girl is new and not all for the talk but they say she has it for turians. Weird, considering she is human.”

“Hm… I don’t think I need that but thank you anyway.”

He drinks his whisky and three more after that, lost in his thoughts and sorrows, that are too grand for a couple of drinks.

  
“Your glass seems empty. Want a refill?”

  
“Yes, plea…”

  
He looks up and stops. The world stops alongside him.

  
“Who are you?”

  
It’s impossible that he has got that drunk so quickly.

  
“Garrus,” she whispers.

  
“Shepard,” he mirrors her.

  
There is silence with which you could cut a glass.

  
“How?” he asks.

  
“I’m good at surviving the odds.”

  
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come back?”

  
“Didn’t want to be the Alliance’s dog on the leash. Or anyone’s dog on the leash.”

  
Her words hurt as burning iron rod would: she probably means Cerberus but Garrus thinks they could have been addressed at him. But this pain is almost a pleasure if what he’s seeing is real.

  
“I craved you to be alive because you almost made me believe in miracles. But life is not the one so all this can’t be true.”  
“It is,” her voice is still quite. “I’m sorry.”

  
“I… understand?” Garrus says, unsure whether he really does.

  
“Are you mad at me?”

  
Thу question takes him by surprise and he takes a moment to grasp it, to check with his thoughts, to catch up.

  
“No, not really. You’re probably not real, just a thing of my imagination.”

  
“Turians don’t have one,” she jokes, indecision in her every feature.

  
Garrus grins and takes a shot that she's made for him. Shepard does the same, wincing as she always did when drinking something stronger than beer. They keep silence for a while afraid to break it and ruin everything.

  
“I can leave the shift and we can talk. If you want,” she finally says.

  
“I do.”

  
She walks away and he can hear a manager yelling at her and her yelling back. He can’t help it and smiles: how many times has he heard her doing that? She finally walks out of the utility room – electrified as after the battle, eyes shining in the dim light of the bar.  
They go away from Eternity, both of them silent. Garrus feels like it’s going to be the best or the worst night in his life. They pass a couple of blocks before she speaks again.

  
“I’m me, good old Amelia Shepard.”

  
“I believe you,” he interrupts. They are not going anywhere with this conversation: the more he looks, the more he believes that it’s really her but he needs more than fifteen minutes to catch on to that. “I’m staying close to this place. Wanna come over?”

  
He asks and at the very moment realizes how stupid he’s just sounded.

  
“You ask?” she chuckles and they walk in silence all the way to the hotel.

  
“You don’t believe me, G,” she starts again as they enter his room on the seventh floor.

  
“It’s hard to believe. I can be drunk or under some drug or dead,” he half-jokes trying to make it easy for both of them.

Under the bright lamps of the living room he notices a couple of new scars on Shepard’s face and that she’s become even thinner than she was at the end of the war. But that just makes her more real than ever.

  
“You’re not. I’m here. I knew we would meet eventually.”

  
She makes a step closer and kisses him like she used to: tender, gentle kiss of the soft lips that leave a trace of chill on his hard skin.

  
“It’s you,” he says almost inaudibly.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

  
“You’re here and now. That’s all I need.”

  
He strips her of her shirt and her jeans, and she is just s o f t and all the craving passionate thing that she used to be, and that makes him to believe, thought that it’s really her finally sinking into his head.

  
“Your hair looks different.”

  
“Dyed it for disguise.”

  
“I like it anyway. It looks good.”

  
“And my waist?” she smiles widely.

  
“Still supportive, I guess,” he returns a smile and finally relaxes being caressed by her gentle fingers under his civvies.

  
“Spirits, let it be not a dream or let me die if it is one,” he whispers with his eyes closed, purring with his subvocals.

  
“You won’t die,” she says with strength and determination, so familiar and so S h e p a r d.

  
“I missed you, G,” she adds and there is … a tear? running down her cheek.

  
He wipes it away.

  
“I wasn’t sure you’re alive. Didn’t let myself to investigate,” she tries to find an excuse for her sudden weakness.

“Why?"

  
“I knew it would hurt either way”.

  
“Does it hurt now?”

“Depending on how many of the crew made it”.

  
“Everyone,” Garrus smiles at her reassuringly.

  
“Even EDI?” there is hope against hope in her voice and he doesn’t know why.

  
“Why wouldn’t she?”

  
“Just… Just asking,” she exhales as if she has been holding breath all the time, true relief washing over her. “Kiss me, Garrus. Please.”

  
He does and he doesn’t need to be asked.

  
“Will you allow me to stay with you?” he says quietly.

  
“I will not. I will beg you to.”

  
“You won’t need to because that’s what I’m about to do.”

  
“You’re a precious thing, Garrus Vakarian. And now,” she puts her fingers on the buttons of his civvies. “Enough talking, let’s see some action.”

  
“Wait,” he stops her arm putting all his will into that because he has one more question left and it’s an important one. “Will you return to Normandy?”

  
“I’m not sure…” but she sounds like she’s already made a decision that he’s going to like.

  
“You can come as a bartender, we’ve always lacked one.”

  
“Then it’s a yes, I’m in,” she says and unbuckles every button and hook he has on his clothes.


End file.
